


Everything and Nothing

by Lastactiontricia



Category: Supernatural
Genre: supern - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-06 14:46:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13413507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lastactiontricia/pseuds/Lastactiontricia
Summary: I wrote this for a title challenge on Tumblr, its hella angsty





	Everything and Nothing

“Don’t tell me never! I know all about never. I sweated it out in cramped holes and obsessed about it in frost covered trees. It’s haunted every step and poisoned every moment. It’s been at the bottom of every bottle and in the harsh light of morning alone in every hotel room. You say that you’re bad; you say you’re poison, that everything you touch dies. Did you think you were the only one? That you had a fucking monopoly on tragedy?” you gritted out, fists clenched.  
Dean just stood there; arms limp and face tight, face averted. The silence stretched thinner still the longer it went on. So much of Dean was his body. He touched you with hands that had been broken and bleeding, ever raw on the knuckles, these hands that had carved flesh and cradled a child both. They were white with tension now, skin dry and splitting. You wanted him to use them now; punch something, scream, anything but this terrible damning silence. And that’s all there is, this heartbeat of shouldn’t pounding in your chest.  
Shouldn’t.  
Shouldn’t.  
Shouldn’t.  
It’s an earworm, it’s a mantra, it’s a fucking prayer that these memories won’t make you bleed from a wound you’ll never be able to close. I wondered if you opened my chest, would Dean’s name be tattooed there? If my lifeblood came pouring out, would it betray me by spelling his name?  
He never remembers their names for long. Cold comfort as it is. They were all Mary to him, just a raw substitute for something he’d only had a glimpse of. When he was with them he was open and jagged, the guy they talked about for years afterward, a true thing in a false world, the best they ever had. Dean fucked you like you were the last woman on earth, the last fire in a cold and dying world. He looked you in the eyes, burning with life so furiously, anchoring himself in your body, giving you everything and nothing. At least that’s how he’d been with you. Broken glass, beautiful in its refracted light; you ached to touch it even though you knew it would cut you. He still smelled like her, hadn’t even showered off the smell of her skin, their sweat. Then he’d come to your room for what? Absolution? Another night you don’t talk about, fingers ghosting over glistening skin, desperation that’s almost rage, rage that’s almost tears. Bruises in the bathroom afterwards, Dean’s graffiti on your house that your body cleans up and fades away. He reached out finally, touching the crescent shaped scar on your neck, one he’d sewn up; each prick of the needle had felt like the sound of his name, staccato short and painful. He met your eyes and the weight of your shared years were in them but it wasn’t enough. Whispered words in the dark, insubstantial as smoke, and cold shoulders in the morning. He cupped your face like you were precious, and it broke something in you.  
“Decide Dean. I’m not going to pretend anymore. I’m not going to just take whatever you think you can give me.”  
But sometimes the answers just no, and that door is locked, and if you don’t like it you have to go knock on other doors in other places and don’t come to this one again.  
He looked away and stepped back, momentarily torn, before he walked out.


End file.
